I live in Haiti, so as you can imagine I am gradually becoming accustomed to expecting the unexpected.
Just yesterday I was ambushed by rioting needy villagers fighting over the small collection of children’s clothing I planned on distributing civilly. My idea of sorting the box of donations by size and fitting each child for just the right garment was quickly tossed out the window, as were the dresses when the mob forced me into the back seat of the rocking car. After each lunging hand had disappeared from the open window panes of our vehicle, I laughed with a stomach full of butterflies. It was an experience, that was certain, but not all that surprising. I live in Haiti, these people are in need; they are hungry for anything!
The real surprise was when a 70 year old white man with painted toenails, wearing swim trunks, a multi colored striped shirt, and an orange doorag, stepped into my life on what was a fairly typical Tuesday morning.
The name was Art Saggs. I couldn’t forget it if I tried. – Art would of course find me on the one and only day I was left a lone, while my babysitter living companion, mentor, and caretaker ventured to Port Au Prince for the day, 5 hours away. Art's demeanor curious, and not all that offensive, I found it quite easy to pick up conversation with the stranger. Interested only in the basic details of my story (which was more than fine by me), he immediately divulged his in entirety. Art elaborated on his history in Haiti, a retired lawyer (disbarred is more like it) with 12 years of annual visits to the country under his belt ultimately leading to his permanent residency. Then before we had been three minutes acquainted Art was navigating me through his email account and Vanguard retirement plan portfolio. (His hands just slightly too shaky to do it himself.) Art’s master plan was to build a beautiful guesthouse on the beach of Jacmel Haiti. His tales of the future sounded picturesque. His knowledge of all the most spectacular waterfalls in the country was mesmerizing. I was taking the bait. – As he shared with me his email login password, we shifted gears. Art began to very emphatically dictate a letter, which I scrambled to type. The content was bothersome to say the least. He was lashing out at a committee from the United States, of some sort, which had just recently “disallowed him the expenditure of certain funds.” As the letter grew more graphic, Art covered his face to hide the emotional moment. Then, just as I sealed the email “Yours Truly, Art Saggs” – the mysterious man with whom I had so quickly become familiar lowered his hands, revealing a smile and declared “Ha! PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT!”
Things seemed to be getting stranger by the second, but each time they took a turn for the worse, Art quickly drew me back in. On one occasion he opened my eyes to the little known organization “Clowns Without Boarders”. Surely this was a joke…Nope. Groups of individuals traveling to areas of devastation in clown attire making balloon animals for children, oh its real, he assured me.
Shortly after the entertaining clown conversation Art quite openly shared something with me that sent the entire situation from bizarre to potential crisis status. He had just escaped from a mental intuition in Port Au Prince. Sawing through rebar, fighting guards, he fled with little more than his life. “You see, I’m bipolar, and well the officials in Port Au Prince at the time seemed to think for some reason, that I needed my rest.” (Who the hell knows what that actually means?) Art explained as to how he initially got into the entire predicament.
Playing it cool as a cucumber, I replied, “Oh man that’s a bummer, are they looking for you?” Then with a mischievous but very nonthreatening smirk that I had so promptly come to know, he giggled, “Ohhh, I’m looking for Them!”
Wanting to know more, while at the same time desperately wanting to move on from this topic, I had come to terms with the fact that this situation had no chance of getting less weird. I was right.
Next cyber stop: Art’s Vanguard retirement portfolio. Once again leaving all the computer work in my hands…Art gave me a quick crash course on retirement funds. My eyes fixed on the screen; I was peering inside this man’s financial life in a nutshell. Art had me clicking here, and typing there - “Submit” he instructed, then boom, we were done. Art sold all 950 shares of his stock with the click of my finger. “Ha, I’m depleting my retirement” he laughed with a carefree air.
The problem however, was not that Art had just drained all his money…the problem was that he could not actually get his hands on this money for another few days. The severity of this became much more clear upon being informed that he actually didn’t have a penny to his name at this moment and he desperately needed 2000 gouds (US$50) to get back to Jacmel. This, I’m sure you can assume, immediately proceeded his plea for money. Problem number two however, I had no money either. Now, if only the story ended here…Art should have clearly taken this as a sign that he needed to exhaust his efforts else where, but no. At this time I reluctantly allowed him to make some phone calls on my Haitian pay as you go cell. However, two hours in and Art had neither paid me for using every last one of my minutes nor gone!
After patiently listening as he hit dead end after dead end in an attempt to secure gas money, I realized that what started as a strange meeting, had suddenly turned into an all day affair. My conversational replies became shorter, hoping if I ignored the situation it would disappear as quickly as it had come. However there was no quick fix, and my lack of interest did not discourage. I learned several more fun facts before it was all said and done. Art had slept on the street last night. The street in Haiti!!! I also learned of Art’s womanizing ways. He loved very much his Haitian girlfriend but this did not keep him from pursing several other women living in the United States. (via my cell phone.) Finally, some sister of a friend came through. She delivered 1000 gouds rather than his requested 2000. But this donation would get him halfway home and he would figure the rest out from there.
With a “Bon voyage” and a wave of my hand, I bid the rambling man a farewell. “But not to worry my dear,” Art assured me, “We will meet again soon!”
by The Thrills
I just recently rediscovered this album...the entire thing simply marvelous!
